


Ghosts of Dreams Past

by Grania



Category: Elementary (TV), The West Wing
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Lisa Edelstein deserves so much more than crappy guest roles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:54:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grania/pseuds/Grania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story that I have carried around since the first season of Elementary. </p>
<p>It's a re-telling of the eighth episode, where (without giving away too much) Lisa Edelstein plays almost the same character she had played a decade earlier on The West Wing. </p>
<p>Little forewarning: I only watched up to season four of TWW, and only a few episodes of the later seasons. It's bad enough that I had to accept Leo's very real death, I couldn't stomach to watch how they butcher Toby's character.<br/>Thus the story is set at the end of President Santos' second term, with Sam in the middle of his own campaign (just as Bartlet hinted in one of the first seasons).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was running late, and reached the church just as the sexton was closing the giant door.  
He hurried up the stairs, ignoring her scolding looks, and slipped through the last crack.  
The church was big, and though many people had come, there was still plenty of empty space. He chose the second to last bench, right in front of the sexton, and he had it all to himself.  
The organ was still playing far above the heads of the mourners. Some of the heads in front of him he recognized instantly, CJ, for example, what with her towering over almost everybody else. There were only few men with thin hair, and none looked like Josh. He did not see anyone who resembled Sam, either, but to his surprise he recognized Mallory, Zoe, and Margaret, two rows to the front, on the other side of the aisle.  
The organ fell silent with one last, deep sigh, and after a short pause a man rose from the first row, and walked to the front, unfolding a piece of paper on his way.  
His voice trembled when he began: "My sister Mandy...was an exceptional woman."

It was not too cold for this time of the year, though the rain sure made it feel that way.  
No light shone out of the windows, even though Sherlock was supposed to be at home, even though Joan had barely been gone twenty minutes, and she feared the worst.  
She grabbed the umbrella and the shopping bag in one hand, and searched her pockets for the key with the other. The street lights had not been turned on yet, even though it was almost night already this late in the afternoon, and she had to dig blindly.  
She could not find it, and on top of that lost the grip on the umbrella. Heavy raindrops poured on her head, an in her eyes.

"Let me help," someone suddenly said in her back, and her umbrella rose from the ground over her head again.

She smiled, and raked through her purse with new fervor. "Thanks, Toby. Sorry about the heavy metal on Tuesday...and the thing with the honeycombs yesterday."  
She often had to apologize to him.

"Barely a problem," Toby answered in his usual serious tone, and patiently watched her search every pocket with his peculiar serious amusement.  
He had been walking without umbrella or hat, and was thoroughly drenched.

"Long day?", she asked to pass the time.

He shook his head. "Just a long drive...to a funeral."

She looked up. No, there had been no way she could have recognized that from his look. He seemed the same as usual. "I'm so sorry. A relative?"

"No. An old...acquaintance. From work."

Finally her fingers curled around the key, at the very bottom of the shopping bag. Before she could say anything else Toby handed over the umbrella, and walked on.

"Have a nice evening."

"You too. And thanks," she almost had to shout after him.

He had stopped pretty fast to ask questions, or even worry, about the strange behaviour of his new neighbours. Thus he stayed calm when he observed from his living room window how Joan threw a burning rubber boot out of the door, sucked in clear air for a moment, turned around, and disappeared inside again, probably to find the second boot.  
He checked the answering machine on his way to the kitchen. The first message was from Molly, asking him whether he had seen her blue gloves. The second message was from CJ.   
He almost dropped the leftover soup when he heard her voice.

“You think you can just sneak away, Professor Ziegler? Don’t lie, I’ve seen you in the churchyard, or better said, I saw your coattails as you ran to your car after the sermon.”

Something like aching happiness spread in his chest upon hearing the familiar voice. He put the soup in the microwave.

“Don’t worry, I told Mal, Margaret, and Zoey that you had another important appointment. They send their regards, and you better believe that they would’ve like to talk to you old, grumpy hermit. You may have avoided them, but you cannot escape me! I’ll be here until Monday late afternoon, and if you don’t call me before tomorrow morning, I’ll come with the battering ram. My phone number is still the same, unlike yours, which by the way you never told! The lady at your faculty was very reluctant to give it to me. See you soon.”

He was still smiling when the microwave pinged.   
He sat down at the kitchen table, next to today’s paper, still unread. The spoon was halfway between the plate and his mouth when a few lines on the bottom of the front page caught his eye.  
With a frown he dropped it, picked up the paper, then opened it to read the whole article inside.   
When he had finished, he had forgotten CJ and the soup, and with growing nervousness he opened his computer, and spent the rest of the evening searching the archives of various newspapers.


	2. Chapter 2

Not for the first time CJ wondered whether Toby’s mother had given him a dozen brown suits on his 20th birthday, to be worn for the rest of his life.  
The coat though seemed to be new, and his beard was cut short again, probably the most obvious sign that he had found back on the track.  
She stood up from her chair when he walked through the door of the restaurant, and waved him over.   
He had carried his usual scowl until that moment, and she would have freely admitted that she was quite proud to be one of the few people who could coax a smile out of him, even after all these years.

“Tobus!”, she exclaimed, and extended her arms. “Don’t fight it!”

“I’d never fight your sweet touch, Claudia Jean”, he answered, and patted her back with the one arm that was not crushed between their bodies.

She smiled “Still the same old tease.”

The waiter came over, and they sat down to order breakfast.  
Of course she had to do most of the talking after the first obligatory pleasantries, as expected, but the longer they sat together, the more it seemed that something troubled him.  
Eventually, over their third cup of coffee, she asked him outright:   
“Is something wrong?”

He raised his eyebrows, and for a split second she fully expected him to rant about Roberto Mendosa, bark something at Cathy, and flounce back to the sanctity of his office

“I’m probably going crazy”, he answered instead.

“I think that comes with the job. So many students, so many papers to grade...”

He smiled faintly, and rubbed his forehead. He wanted to say something, and she waited.  
“I ask you not to take what I’m going to say as a sign of unresolved issues in my...our past.”

She frowned. “Now I’m curious.”

He took a deep breath. “I think Mandy’s death wasn’t natural.”

 

It was almost noon, the empty time between late breakfast and lunch, and the waiters were occupied with cleaning and preparing the place for the next rush.  
CJ put the spoon down on the saucer.  
“Of course it wasn’t a natural death, Toby. Nobody should go that young, and in that...that manner. It’s just cruel fate.”

Apparently her voice had sounded too soft, or her frown had been too pitying, because Toby huffed, and was instantly worked up.   
It was like coming home, and CJ could barely keep a straight face, even though she did not feel like laughing at all.

“That’s not what I mean! The gas…”  
He broke off then dug his trusty notebook out of his pocket, and opened it to a list of names, written in his small, efficient hand. 

His voice dropped to a murmur: “In the last two years, no less than eight senators and congressmen from Bartlet’s first administration have died. Glen Walken, heart attack three years ago”, he said, and pointed to the first name.  
“Joseph Bruno, heart attack. Good old Katzenmoyer, drowned in the Atlantic on holidays. His pal Bannon, shot in a hunting accident. Peter Lilienfield, died in the bomb attack last year. Former Senators Jimmy Holbuck, Morgan Mitchell, and Randall Thomas, all suicide.”

CJ desperately tried to keep a neutral face, though of course Toby saw her doubt, and the unease about his mental health.

“I know it must seem crazy, but…”

“Crazy?” CJ interrupted, “Toby, I don’t recognize you anymore! Bruno and Walken? Of course they’d go out with a busted heart, the two of them together had the gravitational force to pull small planets out of their orbit! Lilienfield was a victim of terrorism, and Mitchell, rest his soul, probably grabbed the wrong bottle during one of his benders. As for the others…”

She shook her head. Toby was glaring at his list.

“Within the last two years, CJ?” he eventuall asked, and she had to bite her tongue to keep back an exasperated groan. Figures that Toby was not looking for someone to talk him out of it.

“It’s been almost a decade since we left. Do you know how many senators and congressmen from that time have died in the first seven years?”

She shook her head.

“Two. One from cancer, one from old age.”

CJ stirred the cold remains of her coffee. It was not how she had imagined their small reunion, and yet something in her wanted to listen to Toby.  
She swallowed her pride, and forced herself to take another look at the list.

“Mandy is the first woman, and the only member of the White House administration...and she wasn’t there anymore during the whole MS debacle.”

Toby blinked. “What?”

She pushed the cup away. “The one big problem before the genetically predisposed president of all problems was Leo’s addiction.”

Toby frowned, opened his mouth, closed it again, and had another look at the list. Eventually he understood, and he laughed.  
“That’s what I love about you. You don’t think we’re being targeted, you think one among us is the murderer.”

She shrugged. “Honestly? Looking at that list I’d say Josh did it.”

They both laughed for a second, then fell silent again, and pondered the facts.

Even though CJ was reluctant to admit it, the sudden increase over the last two years was worrisome.   
“That’s not something the police will believe,” she eventually remarked.

Toby looked at her, with his right shoulder almost touching his ear, and an earnest half-smile on his face. 

She threw up her hands. “Oh, for...who?”


End file.
